should offer
to perform a cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of succeeding, if
she might be permitted to make the trial, seemed more than even her
father's skill warranted, though he was the most famous physician of
his time; for she felt a strong faith that this good medicine was
sanctified by all the luckiest stars in heaven, to be the legacy that
should advance her fortune, even to the high dignity of being count
Rossilion's wife.

Bertram had not been long gone, when the countess was informed by her
steward, that he had overheard Helena talking to herself, and that he
understood from some words she uttered, she was in love with Bertram,
and had thought of following him to Paris. The countess dismissed
the steward with thanks, and desired him to tell Helena she wished
to speak with her. What she had just heard of Helena brought the
remembrance of days long past into the mind of the countess, those
days probably when her love for Bertram's father first began; and she
said to herself, "Even so it was with me when I was young. Love is a
thorn that belongs to the rose of youth; for in the season of youth,
if ever we are nature's children, these faults are ours, though then
we think not they are faults." While the countess was thus meditating
on the loving errors of her own youth, Helena entered, and she said
to her, "Helena, you know I am a mother to you." Helena replied, "You
are my honourable mistress." "You are my daughter," said the countess
again: "I say I am your mother. Why do you start and look pale at
my words?" With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, fearing the
countess suspected her love, Helena still replied, "Pardon me, madam,
you are not my mother; the count Rossilion cannot be my brother, nor
I your daughter." "Yet, Helena," said the countess, "you might be my
daughter-in-law; and I am afraid that is what you mean to be, the
words _mother_ and _daughter_ so disturb you. Helena, do you love my
son?" "Good madam, pardon me," said the affrighted Helena. Again the
countess repeated her question, "Do you love my son?" "Do not you
love him, madam?" said Helena. The countess replied, "Give me not
this evasive answer, Helena. Come, come, disclose the state of your
affections, for your love has to the full appeared." Helena on her
knees now owned her love, and with shame and terror implored the
pardon of her noble mistress; and with words expressive of the sense
she had of the inequality between their fortu